Hold Me Down
by Grand Master Thief
Summary: "They say that dead men tell no tales but that's not quite true. Ghosts are real. They're there if you just bother to look and listen – and that's exactly what I do, what I'm paid to do. They're there in the broken bones, bruises, lacerations and welts. Ghosts are real and I find mine in the bodies unlucky enough to grace my examination table." - Post-The Last Laugh, Jerome/OC


**Author(s) Note: Hey, first Gotham story. Jerome is bae. Though I know Cameron Monaghan from Shameless as Ian Gallagher better. Admittedly, I'm only on season one but I've watched quite a few Jerome clips on YouTube. He's an awesome, interesting character. This story takes place after the scene where he gets killed - so I've obviously changed stuff. So he's not dead, and I might have it be where he is actually the Joker. I dunno. Haven't decided yet. Haven't even decided if I'll continue this, to be honest. Anyway~ I don't own anything expect my OC Lucille 'Luci' and the plot. Also, this is rated M for a reason. Violence and gore and sexual themes and such. Don't like, don't read. Beware, I don't usually write first person and it's unbeta-ed.**

 **Enjoy~**

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 _Blood still stains when the sheets are washed_  
 _Sex don't sleep when the lights are off_  
 _He's still dead when you're done with the bottle_  
 _Of course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradle_

\- Melanie Martinez, Sippy Cup

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 **Chapter 01**

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They say that dead men tell no tales but that's not quite true. Ghosts are real. They're there if you just bother to look and listen – and that's exactly what I do, what I'm paid to do. They're there in the broken bones, bruises, lacerations and welts. Ghosts are real and I find mine in the bodies unlucky enough to grace my examination table.

As you can imagine, working as the GCPD's medical examiner is an exhausting, often times thankless job. There's no rest for the wicked, and new bodies are always being carted in then stuffed into a human sized freezer until I can get around to opening them up, and taking a peek inside.

With the recent upsurge in gang activity, and the formation of the Maniax, more bodies are coming into the morgue than there are leaving. And it's sad to say, but some dead people are more important than others. The ones that take precedence are looked over first, then if time allows, a few others are checked off the list. Some of the bodies have been here almost a month, their autopsies not urgent enough to warrant the attention.

Like I said, it's a thankless job. I could be doing so much more with my medical degree but here I am, wasting away my days playing around in dead bodies. It's not glamorous and it's nothing to brag about but it pays well. As petty as it might sound, it's one of the reasons I haven't quit. Gotham is a dog eat dog world. At least here, I'm tucked away from experiencing one on one encounters with the crime running rampant. All I have to deal with is the bloody aftermath. If that's the small price to pay for safety, then I'll pay it a million times over.

Because of all the corpses that need to be examined, I've barely slept in the last 48 hours or even had a chance to sit down, for that matter. My partner, Jacob, and I have been switching on and off every few hours, giving each other a ten-minute break to load up on shitty coffee and as many power bars we can cram into our mouths before it's back to the grind. I'm due for my break soon, my last was a little over five hours ago. Jacob has two minutes left on his before he's due to take my spot.

I'm elbows deep in one of the GCDP officers when the wide double doors smack against the wall behind me. I barely look up, blowing a strand of hair out of my face as I cup the dead man's heart in my hand, taking note of its shape and testing its weight.

"You've still got two minutes, Jacob," I say, distracted by a lump I find on the organ. "Better make them worthwhile, who knows when you'll be able to get another one."

"Luci, we've got one coming in hot. You're going to have to put that one on ice."

"Are you kidding me? He's been here since Tuesday and I just opened him up."

"GCPD called ahead, they want us on this as soon as the body's delivered," Jacob counters, moving carts holding medical instruments around, and setting up the second examination table. While wiping down the metal with antiseptic, he says, "They got the leader of that one group that's been going around killing people."

I snort, rolling my eyes as I yank my hand out of the corpse's chest cavity with a squelch. I take off the latex glove, mindful to keep it turned inside out so I don't get blood all over myself. Been there, done that, no thank you. After tossing it into a bio hazard bin, I round on Jacob and fix him with a disgruntled stare. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific there, Jake. There's a lot of groups in Gotham that kill people."

"The one with that ginger freak, starts with an M and has an X or something." He rolls his eyes, throwing away a paper towel. "And thanks for the sass, much appreciated."

I raise an unamused eyebrow, shooting him a wry smirk. "Are you talking about the Maniax, spelled with an X?" I ask. "And you know you wouldn't have me any other way. You'd be bored to tears without me."

Jacob snorts and mutters something unkind under his breath before nodding to the officer I was working on before he came in. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I don't care what they're called. I just know they're a bunch of fucked up psychos," he says, ignoring the second half of what I said as he continues, "Anyway, are you going to put him back? You're not going to have enough time to finish the exam, not right now. The higher ups said they wanted us both on it so it must be a pretty big deal."

I turn and start putting the dirty utensils in a pile, frowning down at the opened body. I hate this. I hate how unfair this is to the dead. They're people and it's my job to figure out how they died. Their families deserve to let them rest in peace. They shouldn't be forced to grieve while their loved one's rot away in a morgue, poked and prodded at but there's nothing I can do. I've got to do my job and that means I have to follow orders. If they say jump, I ask how high. Someone always has their boot in someone else's face, and this city is just a big power play between the rich families. At least by working for the GCPD, I know which boot it is.

There's no point in dwelling over the injustice, or stitching him back up when I'm just going to be poking around inside again in a few hours, so I draw the crisp white sheet over his head and wheel him over to one of the empty freezers. With a little bit of heavy lifting and some old fashioned elbow grease, I've got him inside and I'm closing the door right as a gurney is rolled into the morgue.

Jacob ushers the two officers over to the cleaned table, helping them lift the body. I make my way over, helping center the body as the officers' step back, looking uncomfortable, which is no surprise. Every officer that visits the morgue has the same exact look. Being around the dead is normal for Jacob and I, but for everyone else it's just a dark reminder of their mortality. That one day, they will be a stiff, unmoving corpse on a table.

"Right," the taller officer says, nodding towards our newest addition. "Gordon said as soon as you're done, he wants the report sent directly to him."

"Will do," Jacob says, already unlacing the man's shoes.

"If that's all, we'll just be on our way."

I don't bother sparing them a goodbye as they hightail it out of the room, instead observing the young man on the table as Jacob tugs off his shoes and socks. He doesn't look older than 18, 19 at most. His body is lean and pale, clothes stained with blood around his collar. A shock of copper hair rests on his head, and the angular planes of his face are sharp. A shiver races down my spine at the unnerving smile stretching his mouth wide, teeth on display as smears of blood give the appearance of a Glasgow grin. Even in death, he looks downright deranged. It's no wonder he was the leader of the Maniax. He certainly looks the part.

"Luci, are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me get him undressed?" Jacob questions, sounding frustrated.

Snapping out of whatever daze I drifted off into, I shoot Jake a sheepish smile and gesture towards the morgue doors. "Sorry, the lack of sleep is starting to get to me. Do you mind if I grab a quick cup of coffee?"

Frowning down at a zipper, Jacob gives a quick shake of his head before shooing me away, "Go, Luc. Pretty sure I can handle this bozo for ten minutes while you regenerate some brain cells."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. Not like it's gonna kill me."

"Thanks, Jake. You're the best."

"Hey!" he calls.

I stop, my hand on the door and glance at him from over my shoulder, asking, "Yeah?"

"Drink one for me too."

I laugh, shaking my head fondly as I head into the hall, on my way to the vending machine. "You got it, Jake."

* * *

"God, I needed that," I say, stretching my arms high over my head as I enter the morgue. "The wonders of what a ten-minute power nap and some shitty coffee will do, eh?"

Before I can step away from the doors, I freeze and a feeling of unease trickles down my spine. I don't know how to explain it but there's just this…electric charge to the air, this oppressive heaviness that makes my stomach churn. Immediately, I know something is definitely wrong. Jacob doesn't respond and I look around the seemingly empty morgue, cautiously taking a step forward. There's not many places to go, it's just a big empty room filled with a few gurneys and medical equipment. I don't see Jacob anywhere, and come to think of it, the body isn't on the table like it should be. There's no way the exam was finished in the time I was gone.

"Jacob?" I call out, brows furrowed and frowning. I keep my steps light, trying to walk along the edge of the room. "Are you here?"

I'm near the exam table when I see it. Oozing across the checkered tiles is a large puddle of blood. My breath catches in my throat and fear seizes my heart, slamming it against my ribs. My hands tremble as I shuffle forward, eyes wide and unblinking.

"Please, don't be Jake," I mumble over and over like a mantra as I get closer and closer. "Please, don't be Jake."

I stop at the edge of the puddle of blood, swallowing past the lump in my throat and gathering my courage to look down. When I do, I immediately stumble back, tripping on my own feet. My stomach roils and I lean to the side, vomiting whatever was left in my stomach. My throat burns and tears prick my eyes and I can't look away.

Jacob is on the floor, blood gurgling from the jagged cut in his throat. His mouth is open in a silent scream, the corners of his lips cracked and bleeding like someone took a knife and tried to widen his mouth. His torso is a pincushion of medical equipment. And his eyes, oh god, his eyes. I dry heave, body shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and fear. His eyes have been gouged out, a pair of bloody scissors next to his head.

I'm knocked out of my horrified stupor when I hear a scraping sound coming from near the storeroom. I drag my gaze away from Jacob's desecrated body, stumbling to my feet. My knees feel weak and I can barely hold myself up, like I could collapse at any given moment. I stagger towards the doors, knowing that if I can get to the main department, I'll be safe.

But before I even get two steps away, the lights go out and cast the morgue into complete darkness. I can't stop a terrified whimper from escaping my throat, fumbling my way towards the faint hallway light shining from under the door.

My fingertips graze the cool metal of the doors when the air behind me shifts and a burning heat presses into my back. I tense, shaking apart as a dark voice croons in my ear.

"Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you," it says, tone playful and mocking. "Unless you wanna end up like that _bozo_ over there."

Something sharp – a scalpel, my mind supplies – presses against my carotid, and I bite down on a squeak. The cold metal slides up and down the delicate skin of my throat, teasing as it presses down too hard before easing up. It is a tense waiting game and I know whoever behind me is enjoying every second of this torture, basking in the fear rolling off of me in waves. One nick and it could be game over for me.

Lips brush against the shell of my ear as the man speaks, "Now, what are you gonna do so my hand doesn't accidentally slip and slice your throat. What's your life worth?"

"I – I…" I stutter, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. My heart is beating like a jack rabbit in my chest and I feel like I'm about to shatter. "Anything – m-my life - it's worth anything. Whatever you want. I – I'll do whatever you want."

"That's what I like to hear, Doll Face," he says, a high pitched chuckle sounding next to my head. "What do you say to blowing this popsicle stand?"

I give a shaky nod, not trusting my voice, all of my strength drained.

The scalpel taps out a beat against my throat, and I flinch with each hit.

"Well, lead the way, Gorgeous," he sing-songs, pressing against my back and forcing me through the double doors. "We haven't got all day. Places to be, people to kill. You know how it goes."


End file.
